


Caught Licking Leather

by orphan_account



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Blowjobs, G-String, Heels, Jealous Otabek, M/M, Spanking, Yuri's Saint Laurent outfit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 12:10:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12531036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He gets everything he wants. He gets everything for free.





	Caught Licking Leather

**Author's Note:**

> The [outfit](https://78.media.tumblr.com/b568d82b7674cc3b491478e5fddc37f7/tumblr_oyiu0wT6zZ1w09nhto1_1280.jpg) in question. [MOOD MUSIC.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U5h2Fpz5cVk)

———

The walls of the studio around him were a patchwork of white and primary color backdrops, each illuminated in the off-tempo flash of studio lights.

The only sounds, other than the shutter, were the titters from the make-up artists at the back of the room, punctuated by the honeyed words of the photographer. He was on one knee, lens pointed up at a sharp angle to capture the profile of the blonde that glared down at him.

Each flash caught Otabek’s face in harsh lines as he leant forward on the fold-out director’s chair. His dark eyes caught each burst of light, pupils expanding and contracting as he watched the scene unfold in front of him.

Yuri’s hair was all tousled, teased short and sitting high on the back of his neck to expose the long white column of delicate skin. It didn’t end there, his chest lay bare in a plunging V, all swathes of ivory skin on display in contrast to the rich black fabric. His skin flared even whiter with each flash of the studio lights, thin waist sinewing with each turn toward the camera. 

Yuri Plisetsky, exposed and laid out like the perfect prey, all wrapped in high-end trappings. It was barely a promotion of the product, so much the body it encased. Thousands of eyes would rake the magazine feature, hungry to catch a glimpse of that tight and tempting body. Dirty fingers smudging the ink as they trailed over the perfect lines of his chest.

Otabek shifted in the fold-out chair, jaw stiff as he watched Yuri strut forward from the white backdrop, photographer trailing like hungry lion behind him.

Otabek’s no idiot, he knows what goes on between silver fox photographers and their too-pretty boy models. How they’d delighted in dressing up Yuri in their slutty little outfits; the more skin the better. Their tongues licking at their chapped lips from behind the lens as the shutter sounded over and over to honeyed words of encouragement.

_Hands up._

_Faster._

_Beautiful, just like that._

Otabek’s no idiot, he had insisted to chaperone Yuri. Maybe it was embarrassing to admit it, but he had his reasons. And it’s not like Yuri didn’t have his own.

But Otabek wasn’t so worried about the photographer, a guy in his late 40’s with a slick fade and thick glasses, he was harmless enough. Didn’t let his fingertips linger too long on Yuri’s arm as he directed him from pose to pose. Sharp eyes not lingering too long on the exposed flesh within grasping distance.

Otabek watched Yuri stare haughtily down the camera lens, green eyes bordered in perfectly-applied liquid liner, angular face accentuated by the touches of gold powder on his skin. His body flowed and contorted, hips dipping from side to side as one hand came to his hip, than the other in rhythm to the ‘ _yes, that’s it, now stop, perfect!_ ’. 

The tiniest smile painting his pink lips as he spoke to the photographer with a coy ‘ _like this_?’, arching his back as he cocked his head to the side.

Otabek’s face darkened as he watched the photographer lick his lips again, finger pausing on the shutter as Yuri’s hand skimmed over his own bare chest leaving a trail of goose-flesh.

His eyes narrowed dangerously, trying, and failing, to catch Yuri’s gaze. 

No, Otabek wasn’t worried about the photographer.

The dance continued for some minutes, the _snap, snap, snap_ of the camera shutter piercing into Otabek’s increasingly hazy-red mind. The flash strobing until Yuri’s silhouette was painted on the backs of his eyelids each time he blinked.

He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deep and trying to tune it all out. Yuri's breathy laughs piercing through his meditative armor as the photographer captured him between each flash of light.

The metallic scrape of the studio doors cut short his reverie. 

Otabek's eyes blinked open, watching the photographer and suite of magazine staff pull back from the scene in clipped conversation.

Yuri stood to the side of the backdrop, picking aside a stray thread of hair that had stuck to his nude-painted lips. Black fingernails stark against white skin and delicate fingertips.

Otabek could picture those nails, those fingers, circling around his cock, studio lights flashing as they caught each image. Black nails scratching lines over his exposed chest. Dipping into his nude-colored mouth as his teeth scratched the acrylic.

Otabek was too caught up in the thought to realise the photographer had sidled back up to him. A heavy hand clapping onto his shoulder, accompanied by a waft of expensive cologne.

Otabek controlled the unsavory curl of his lip, his displeasure instead resolving in a twitch of one angular eyebrow.

“Take a break, we’ll do the outdoor set in a half-hour,” the photographer nodded to Yuri with a smile, "You're a pleasure to work with."

Yuri's ears tinged pink at the compliment, shifting his weight to his other foot. He opened his mouth to respond but was cut short.

“Thanks.”

Otabek clipped, shifting enough to prompt the photographer to withdraw his too-friendly hand.

The man gave a muted smile down to him, though Otabek didn't return the look. His eyes stayed glued on Yuri; out of the corner of his eye he saw the photographer turn to leave the room, following where the rest of the crew had trickled out to the court yard of the lot.

The bar door scraped close, sound echoing into the high ceiling crossed with matte steel beams.

Yuri sniffed into the air, face painted with a faint smirk as he stared down at his feet. They'd insisted on heels for the indoor shoot, glossy, black leather buckled over his thin ankles. It made him stand taller, taller than Otabek, balancing on four-inch stilettos.

He didn't seem to have trouble walking in them; working confident strides across the polished concrete as he stared down at Otabek still stiff in the director's chair. Otabek wondered if it was his innate sense of balance, or personal experience…

“What did you think?”

Otabek was staring at the heels, expression unreadable. The leather covered Yuri feet but made him wonder if his toes were painted black the same as his fingers.

He dragged his eyes up, gaze hovering over the 'V' of flesh exposed by the outfit, before resting on Yuri's carefully painted face.

“Come here.”

Otabek breathed.

Yuri blinked, cocking his head to the side like he did in the shoot, though suddenly much less confident as he noticed the intense look that had settled over Otabek's face.

“Beka.”

He pouted, one long leg striding in front of the other as the heels _click, click, clicked_ over the concrete.

He stopped in front of the chair, though Otabek caught a thin wrist in his hand to pull him closer. Yuri almost tripped over his heels as he stepped into the space between Otabek's knees.

His free hand grasped around Yuri’s other wrist, thumb and forefinger easily touching as he angled his chin up to stare into his wide, green eyes.

“I think you’re beautiful.”

Otabek said sincerely, staring up at him through dark lashes.

Yuri hummed an approving noise, dipping at the waist to catch Otabek in a kiss. It started chaste enough, Otabek figured Yuri didn’t want to smudge his lip liner. 

He had other plans.

Otabek released one of Yuri’s wrists, moving the hand up to cup the back of his head as he pulled him closer. Yuri made a note of disapproval, but it was lost quickly when Otabek’s tongue dipped into his mouth. Yuri turned his head to the side as Otabek deepened the kiss, tongues sliding against each other and lips mashing clumsily enough to smear lipstick across his face.

Otabek released him suddenly, though kept his hand in place. 

Yuri panted, awkwardly bent at the waist over his lap, nude-pink smeared around his mouth.

Otabek’s fingers uncurled from the back of his head slowly, tracing the fine lines of his neck down to his collarbones. He fingered absently at the delicate silver necklace the stylist had clasped there, rough fingertips tickling the divots of Yuri’s collarbones and making him shudder.

Otabek kept tracing lines with his fingers, watching the pale flesh raise across each path he stroked.

“Everyone thinks you’re beautiful.”

He murmured darkly, ignoring the way Yuri smirked and blushed at the comment. He stood upright when Otabek’s mouth met the skin at the base of the exposed ‘V’. 

Yuri panted softly against wet, open mouth kisses that trailed up to his bellybutton, Otabek tonguing the faint, almost invisible line of blonde hair.

He hummed as he brought his hands up to Yuri’s waist, broad palms slipping under the tight, black fabric and tracing up his ribs, thumbs rubbing the line where fabric met naked skin. His mouth followed up as high as it could without him rising from the chair, teeth grazing the tight skin of Yuri’s belly.

Yuri murmured out a moan, black-painted fingernails finding Otabek’s shoulders for balance as his hands continued to paw at the exposed swath of skin. Rough fingertips scratched almost painfully hard across his nipples, his tongue dipping again into Yuri’s naval with a soft growl.

“Beka.”

Yuri whined.

Then suddenly Otabek’s hands were gone.

Yuri caught himself on his heels before he could fall into his lap; not that Otabek would have minded. But that wasn’t what he had in mind.

“Take it off.”

He said, hands falling into his lap as his chin gesturing up the sharp lines of the designer ‘suit’.

Yuri’s brow flickered a moment, something that might have been an indignant cough escaping his lips. Face flush and lipstick askew.

“But—“

“Now.”

Yuri’s mouth snapped close. 

Otabek could already see the faint outline of his cock under the black fabric. Fuck, what did they make him wear under there? The idea of some over-perfumed French suit dressing Yuri with a smile made his blood boil and heart set alight.

It didn’t matter, he told himself, he’d know soon enough.

Otabek crossed his arms, forearms flexing under tanned skin as he watched Yuri shift nervously. He pouted, though Otabek was immune, dark eyes piercing through Yuri’s smug exterior as he sat resilient in the directors chair, fluorescent studio lights buzzing overhead. 

With a huff, Yuri’s black-painted nails started to work at the silver belt buckle. It wasn’t so much as suit as it was a jumpsuit, expensive fabric stitched together in a single piece that Yuri must have slinked into behind a dressing room door. 

Yuri peeled the top half of the suit off, cuffs dangling around his knees, shoulders to hips entirely bare if not for the silver necklace reflecting shards of white-blue light from overhead. 

He looked at Otabek expectantly, raising one eyebrow as if daring him to move next.

He did. 

Otabek’s hands shot out, taking Yuri off balance to stumble into his arms. It wasn’t much of a maneuver to get Yuri slung on his belly over his lap. He squawked indignantly, knees bending and heels kicking uselessly in the air as Otabek’s hands move down his back to the line of fabric covering his ass.

Yuri was too late to figure out what was going on when Otabek wrenched the fabric down with a muted tear of breaking stitches, exposing Yuri’s ass to the cold air of the studio.

There was a brief pause as Otabek took in what was beneath the Saint Laurent suit.

He clicked his tongue as he snapped the line of the black g-string slung across Yuri’s hips.

“They gave it to me asshole.”

Yuri blushed, trying to look back up at Otabek’s face, squirming against the hands that held him down across his lap. He could feel the unambiguous line of Otabek’s cock poking into his belly, trapped in his tight black slacks.

“And you wore them?”

He questioned, snapping the elastic again, hard enough to leave a red line on Yuri’s hip, his other hand blindly tracing the notches of Yuri’s spine.

Yuri didn’t answer, just squirmed again when Otabek’s hand came down to _squeeze_ at a pert ass cheek, thighs trapped in the black fabric of the jumpsuit.

“You wore them. And _he_ knew you were wearing them this whole time, but I didn’t?”

Otabek spoke softly, calmly. He didn’t need to explain who ‘he’ was.

Yuri stilled, and for a moment Otabek thought maybe he was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t Yuri starving for attention, all coy looks and vanity. Maybe it was the photographers, the executives, the jackels, all dressing him up for themselves.

Any illusion of that particular conclusion vanished with the bubbling giggle that rose out of Yuri, his head lifting just enough, teased blonde hair messy around his face as he gave Otabek a knowing smirk.

Otabek’s heart beat fast in his chest as he looked down at those dazzling, and _amused_ , green eyes.

_Slut._

Otabek jaw grit hard and like lightning his hand came down on Yuri’s ass cheek with a resounding _smack_ that echoed through the studio. 

Yuri gasped, breath knocked out of him and hair swinging forward, tangling around his face with the strength of the blow.

Otabek didn’t spare a moment to appreciate the red hand print tattooed over Yuri’s skin, instead bringing his hand down again and again, in hard but glancing strikes on the one cheek. 

Yuri whined, squirming, heels kicking hopelessly in the air, but Otabek’s hand was back at the base of his skull, tangling in his hair as he held him down across his lap. A few more strikes and Yuri was sobbing in his lap, cock trapped in the black thong and pushing up against the side of Otabek’s thigh. 

He rutted into him with each spank, sobs turning to keening moans as Otabek’s hand slowed to a stop.

The hand in his hair pulled him upright, Yuri’s heels hitting concrete awkwardly before his knees did as he contorted in Otabek’s lap. The hand untangled, forcing him to stand.

Yuri gasped, standing on wobbly legs, thighs still caught in the fabric of the Saint Laurent jump suit as he stood between Otabek’s knees. There was the ghost of breath at his tail bone, and he jumped a little as Otabek’s teeth caught the string of the thong, snapping it again.

“Beautiful.”

Hot breath murmured, before a wet, open-mouth kiss was planted on his cherry-red ass cheek. 

Yuri’s chin turned over his shoulder to stare at the top of Otabek’s head, not a hair out of place as he lovingly laved the red, hot skin with his tongue, hands holding Yuri’s hips in place.

Yuri shuddered against the rush of cold air on the wet skin, a loose tear had wormed it’s way down his cheek, painting a streak of black through his eyeliner and mixing with the faint shimmering gold on his cheeks.

Otabek turned him around gently, back to where they had started, though this time Yuri’s face was masked in lust instead of arrogance.

“Are you going to behave for the rest of the shoot?”

Otabek spoke against his skin.

He didn’t need to look up at Yuri’s face to know he nodded, blonde hair tickling over his shoulders and cheeks red. His black finger nails came back to Otabek’s shoulders, tracing up to cup the back of his head as Otabek leaned into kiss his belly button.

Otabek pressed a small, smug smile into his skin as he kissed down to the line of the g-string over Yuri’s hip bone. His hands ran down the tops of his thighs, squeezing the exposed skin not trapped in his little outfit.

He gave his own nod, fingers hooking under one side of the thong just enough to pull it aside, letting Yuri’s cock slip free of the fabric.

Otabek let his breath ghost over him, thumbs still tracing circles over his hips. Yuri’s cock twitched, pink head glossy with pre-cum that stained the front of his thong.

“Promise?”

Otabek breathed, looking up to Yuri this time, gaze locking on those desperate green eyes. 

Yuri licked his lips, lipstick smeared and eyeliner smudged. His mouth opened into a little ‘o’ as he breathed out:

“Promise.”

That was all the confirmation Otabek needed. He dipped his head back down, taking Yuri’s tiny pink cock down his throat with a single motion. Yuri gasped, black fingernails digging into the shaved hair at the base of Otabek’s scalp, thighs shaking.

Otabek bobbed his head, sucking fiercely as his hands moved back to grip hard at Yuri’s ass cheeks. Fingers digging into the abused skin as Yuri moaned loud above him. He didn’t even have time to dip his fingers between those perfect cheeks as Yuri came in short, powerful bursts.

Otabek moaned as he swallowed each spurt of cum, swallowing and sucking until he chased away every last trace of Yuri’s orgasm as he shuddered above him.

Yuri was practically bent over top of him. Leg’s shaky, and heels slipping on the polished concrete as he took in deep, labored breaths.

He faltered a little as Otabek came to stand for the first time since the shoot started. The top of Otabek’s head coming to Yuri’s sightline as he straightened him on unsure feet.

Yuri pulled away a little, enough to look at his face.

Otabek was smirking. Slowly he began to straighten out the lines of the outfit, rebuckling Yuri’s belt and slipping the fabric back over his shoulders. Fingers lingering at each seam as he straightened Yuri’s suit almost to it’s previous state, seams at his waist now loose thanks to Otabek’s treatment of the fabric. 

Once he was done, he looked up, placing a soft kiss on the corner of Yuri’s mouth.

Yuri whimpered, turning his head to taste himself on Otabek’s tongue as he tried to sooth the raised red marks on the back of his neck. Yuri let one hand slip down, gripping the thick outline of Otabek’s cock in his slacks for just a moment before Otabek moved his hand away.

“Later...”

Yuri whined as Otabek brought his hand up to kiss at each black painted nail.

He was still smiling as he glanced back up at Yuri, expression as dark as it was dangerous.

“Once you’ve earned it.” 

———


End file.
